Page 92 of Something Spontaneous

“Why? What’s wrong?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.

She glances at TJ, who’s now showing Sly the special mount on the back of their van’s roof rack that was made for their hanging chairs—but I know it’s really for their extracurriculars. Her focus is then back at me.

“I’m serious, I wanted to know if you are alright? You guys seem like you’re still having a good time, and I mean you do seem happy but—” She starts to ramble again, flopping her hands around in that way that is both distracting and endearing. “Look, I didn’t mean to freak you out with my spaced-out rambling earlier. I only want to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself. I really like Sly, but you know I’m going to be on your side and watch out for you.”

Seeing this protective side of her reminds me again why she has been my best friend for so long. She’s right to ask, and frankly, not wrong to be worried.

I thought I was doing a good job of protecting myself. I tried to keep my walls up and maintain a healthy distance from Sly.

That’s why I don’t even know which of the Jenga blocks I pulled that was the coup de grâce bringing all those walls crumbling down.

All the moments: climbing in his lap at The Hatch, kissing him again in the back hallway, the night in the garage, the afternoon in my motel room. They all blur together. Or maybe it was something more innocent. Maybe it was simply cupping his jaw and stroking his beard to make sure he hadn’t outgrown his dimples the first night we had drinks with his sister.

All of those could be the reasons I put myself in this rare, unplanned, potentially emotionally ruinous position.

That’s what I do though. I live for fun. I live in the moment. I live for something spontaneous and in its own messed-up, uniquely me way, that’s where I’ve ended up.

No one else—not even Grace Chapman, the queen of free-spirits herself—standing in front of me and watching with baited skepticism, could’ve put herself where I am now. I’m having the time of my life while also leaving myself at the mercy of Sly. I’ve put my heart in the hands of the one person I swore I would never let hurt me again.

No. That sobering reality tells me that the margaritas are not talking anymore.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying to convince myself of that as much as I am her. “I’m totally good.”

I shuffle on my feet under her scrutiny, because while I might have kept a monumental secret from her for years, she can still see right through me when something is amiss.

She tilts her head and squints. “Well, I definitely don’t believe you, but do you trust him at least? He did hurt you once.”

I straighten up and cross my arms over my chest, looking up to meet her eyes, which she rolls at me. “Aren’t you the one who said we should go and get hitched?”

“Again, my bad on that one. I just—” She takes a breath and sighs before her eyes soften. “Look, Josie. I know I’m only now learning about some parts of your past—this part of your life—but I do know you. I know what it’s like to always want to be on the move and knowing what I know about you now, it makes more sense than ever. But I also know that it’s okay to stop and take a break for once. It’s okay to slow down.”

She looks at her husband before focusing those soulful green eyes on me, piercing right through my armor, and I love her for it. That’s why I say nothing—knowing better than to interrupt her so she can focus her chaotic squirrel brain—because what she has to say matters to me.

“I could understand that maybe, back then, you were running away from something—from your home. But at least the people there that I’ve met, you don’t have to run from them anymore. They’re all good people who love you, some more than others.”

I know exactly who she’s talking about, when we both look over toward the vans and see Sly still talking to TJ. My heart does a little pitter-patter thing, and those butterflies that were angry—days or weeks ago—are now having a happy party with the tequila in my stomach. Before I can turn back to face her, I’m wrapped up in a trademark Chapman family bear hug.

She whispers into my ear, “You don’t need anyone’s permission to stop running.”

“I know,” I say, rubbing a stray tear away that I hope she doesn’t see. I’m doing my best to hold it together because she’s right—I don’t know what I’m running from anymore.

A month ago, I thought I knew. Day by day, encounter by encounter, the last few weeks in Sterling Springs have told me that time has, in fact, healed those old wounds.

First, it was with Sisi, then Maribel and Eddie, and finally Sly. Some of those old wounds might have even been phantoms of my imagination, fermented and stoked by years of distance from my former home. One by one, that list has been whittled down until I got to this point.

As right as she might be—that I don’t have anything to run from anymore—I’m left with an even scarier thought.

I’m not sure I know how to stop running.

CHAPTER 40

SLY

I Don’t Like Sand

I have very few music festival experiences to compare this to—zero to be exact—but I have a hard time imagining any lineup of acts or scenic venues could top this weekend.

Thanks to TJ and his connections, we’re standing closer to the stage than I ever have before—which isn’t saying much since I’ve never been near a stage—but that’s beside the point. The night air is cool and refreshing, but feels charged when the blasts of heated air from the pyrotechnic display erupt toward us, and the crowd roars. Everyone around us gasps with each display of fire and laser lights. It’s been that way now for all three days of the festival. This has truly been a musical marathon and I can see why Josie loves going to these things. There is always something happening, and that fits her. Then there’s TJ. I can tell he’s enjoying a slower life, which I more than appreciate, but I can tell he probably used to love parts of this life.